


the mother, the son, and the hollow ghost

by tco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Divine Dean, Gen, Vignette, celebratingdean, dean winchester saves, divine!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tco/pseuds/tco
Summary: Dean doesn't get, he only gives.he is the god not listened to,the patron saint of free will that has his own stolen.





	the mother, the son, and the hollow ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babybluecas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybluecas/gifts).



Oh, weren’t you, Dean, a head on a silver plate, served for the birds to eat, the meat around your spine meant for beasts to chew on? Weren’t your ribs destined to make home for grief, for the ungrateful, all-taking ones? Wasn’t your heart built to carry the crosses of the worlds your mind was not supposed to fathom? Weren’t you supposed to contain power that would never be your own? Weren’t you designed to swallow yourself until you were no more? Weren’t you conceived and kept just to utter a single word to end the morning star then wilt away like dusk? Weren’t you put in place, stone by stone, to become the temple that would have to burn in the name of all the absent gods? Weren’t you planned to be a breathing sheath? Wasn’t it written for you to only hold?

Yet you spat the Word on the earth from which you rose. You’ve found strength in all that was meant to make you weak. You molded stones into your bones. You learned to own the skin that you were given. You swallowed the power and the plan, all larger than life, and made it yours. You became the sword of your own. You went to war with the empire of maggots as your flag. You’ve betrayed your makers.

And you’ve won.

You were a Saint, time after time. You kept healing when no one healed you.

Your heart was full of carnage, full of splinters from the crosses you carried, full of wounds from all the lives you’ve given.

But you can’t hear anyone singing hosannas.

The only prayers you get are demands.

Your “no” keeps getting ripped away from your bible.

You will put it back there every single time.

Until dust covers all the days.

Until it remains.

 


End file.
